


Running Mates

by grace_1968



Category: RomneyRyan - Fandom
Genre: 2012 presidential campaign, Colorado, M/M, Mitt Romney - Freeform, Mountains, Paul Ryan - Freeform, Political, Romney Ryan, RomneyRyan 2012, Romneyryan - Freeform, US Politics - Freeform, campaign, morning run, political ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 06:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11731299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grace_1968/pseuds/grace_1968
Summary: Paul takes Mitt on a morning run in the foothills of the Rockies on a campaign stop in Colorado. Much fluff.





	Running Mates

**Author's Note:**

> This masterpiece was written at around 2:30 a.m. I came up with the title halfway through and I could not stop laughing because puns and slaphappiness. My brother made me post it. Anyway. I hope you like it. Enjoy.

The alarm clock shouted its incessant noise, more irritating than alarming to Mitt as he reached over to stop the sound before it woke Ann. It was 4 am, and Mitt was getting up to run in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with Paul Ryan. Stopping only a day in the Denver area, Paul thought a break from the usual campaign mornings would do them both some good, and, as he said to Mitt, it would be a missed opportunity not to take advantage of the scenery while they were there. Mitt wondered as he got dressed why Paul suggested the previous day that they wake up at an ungodly hour such as this to go wear themselves out before another long day of campaigning. He thought of the speech he was to give that afternoon—one he had given countless times before, although with slightly different phrasing—and was quickly reminded why. A break would absolutely do them some good. 

Sitting down in a chair next to the window to put on his shoes, Mitt looked between the curtains at the mountains. Once his shoes were on, he stood, spread the curtains further apart, and looked toward the general area where he and Paul would be hiking. From his hotel room on the eighteenth floor of the Four Seasons Hotel, the black silhouette of the mountains was visible for miles, even in the darkness of morning. He stood there a moment in the quiet. Below him, the city was just beginning to wake, and the mountains looked on with an all-knowing consciousness. 

Mitt heard a knock at the door. He closed the curtains quickly and grabbed a windbreaker before opening the door. Once he did, light from the hallway streamed into the room, briefly causing Mitt's eyes to ache—he was used to and had gotten ready in the dark, as not to wake Ann. The ache left, however, as Mitt's eyes adjusted to the light—and upon seeing Paul at the door. They were dressed similarly, with tennis shoes, shorts, and windbreakers over their t-shirts. Somehow Paul looked energized, but maybe it was because he looked natural in workout clothes, unlike Mitt, who felt both exhausted and slightly odd. Perhaps Paul was just as exhausted, but his fresh-faced smile hid it well. 

"Good morning!"  
"Good morning? It can't be morning already; I'm still asleep," Mitt replied sarcastically, prompting a chuckle from Paul. But it was a good morning.  
"Ready?"  
Mitt nodded. 

Paul drove—he had borrowed the car from a Denver-based campaign staffer—and, because it was early, once they got out of the city, the two essentially had the roads to themselves. The sun rose and, creeping across the eastern plane, lit up the faces of the mountain range. The warm light it shone settled onto Paul's face, too, and Mitt forgot his annoyance at waking up at such an early hour. 

For several weeks before, their relationship had been somewhat strained. They had no malice towards each other, by any means, but an uneasiness plagued both men. This was because nearly a month before, Mitt and Paul succumbed to their mutual attraction and kissed each other for the first time. It was at once totally out of the blue and subconsciously expected: they had felt connected in some way for quite a long time, nearly since they had begun the campaign. In that respect, when the pivotal moment occurred after a particularly invigorating day of campaigning, there was less surprise than relief when the two met each other's embrace in a dim, deserted hallway after a rally. Needless to say, with their wives traveling with the campaign and the restrictions of their respective religions, this expression of affection, however sincere and passionate and awakening, rocked the proverbial boat. Since then, Mitt didn't know what to do with himself. The cliche "nothing was the same" was the absolute, hard fact of his existence, regarding Paul. But when his running mate invited him for a morning run, he, of course, obliged. 

Paul momentarily glanced to the man in the passenger seat, smiling pleasantly. The car ride's silences were punctuated by small talk: about the campaign, their families, various other things. Paul continued the small talk: 

"I forgot to tell you—a buddy of mine's meeting us there. He lives in Boulder and goes up here regularly."  
This news bothered Mitt slightly, although he didn't mean for it to do so.  
Paul's buddy. Okay.  
"Oh. What's his name?"  
"Shaun Melangton. I used to ski here a lot with my family, and I met him in Vail around '88."

Mitt did the math: Paul would've been 18. He was 41, and the CEO of an investment company he had recently co-founded. By that age, Paul had already served eleven years as a United States Representative. They had both come so far, and in each other's direction. 

"I don't think I knew you skied." Subconsciously, Mitt was changing the subject.  
"Yeah, I love it. Came to Colorado nearly every year when I was a teenager. Have you skied much?"  
"Not much."

It was about a 25 minute drive without traffic, and they arrived in the foothills at Chautauqua Park outside Boulder by 5. Stepping out of the car, they saw one or two other lone early-risers on the trails. They were far enough away that the run was sure to be fairly solitary. Paul looked around for his friend, and suddenly got a phone call. He took his phone from his pocket and answered it. 

"Hey." He whispered, "It's Shaun," to Mitt. Into the phone, "Oh, bummer. That's too bad." A pause. "No, that's all right. Don't worry about it."  
Mitt gathered that his friend wasn't coming and felt relief and anticipation.  
"Well, I hope you can come to the rally! Maybe I can see you there." Another pause. "Yeah. Buh-bye." Paul looked at Mitt as he hung up. "Just us, I guess." He hesitated a moment, then, "Shall we?"  
Mitt nodded. "After you," he said, gesturing toward the trailhead. 

Half an hour passed. Forty five minutes. They were significantly far into the park by then, running, then walking, then running, and pausing a few times in between. Despite his age and infrequent runs, Mitt had no trouble keeping up with Paul. For the most part, they ran in sync with each other, both in body and in mind. Something about this outing—perhaps it was the breathtaking scenery around them—put Mitt's discomfort behind him. His running mate put him at ease. 

They stopped once more, catching their breath. The morning air chilled their skin, even in summer, but the rising sun was bright and penetrating. 

"A mile above sea level really makes a difference, doesn't it? The sun's intense." Mitt perpetuated the infectious small talk.  
"It's even worse when there's snow reflecting it right up in your eyes."  
Upon the mention of "eyes," Mitt noticed Paul's blues. In the orange light of the sunrise, they shone brilliantly. Mesmerizingly.  
Mitt found himself staring, and Paul back at him. He broke the gaze, looking at the massive rock face behind Paul. Paul smiled and looked behind himself, as well.  
"Beautiful, huh."  
"Yeah." Mitt returned his gaze to Paul, who turned around and was once again facing him. 

A silence passed between the two, permeated by the wind blowing through the grass and trees and by the birds' songs in the air. 

"Mitt..."

Mitt acquired a guarded expression. His stomach became slightly uneasy, as one's stomach usually does with nervous anticipation. 

"Yeah, Paul." He tried to sound as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  
Paul breathed out slowly. "Would it be appropriate to say that I miss you?" He emphasized the last words—it was more a statement than a question.

Mitt was expecting something intimate, but not those words. It touched him. 

Paul sighed in frustration. "Mitt, I'm sorry, I–I've noticed that you've acted differently these past few weeks, and I'm fairly confident that I know the reason why. I won't pry any further. I just... I suppose I wanted to tell you that I've missed you. And that I do want to be honest with you. You... you've meant so much to me, and I couldn't lie to you. But I understand if... well, you know."

Mitt's body was adrenalized with involuntary nervousness, the kind that makes your hands shake even after the climactic moment has passed. He wasn't shaking, though, but he thought for a moment that his heart beat might be audible to Paul, standing a few feet away.  
Mitt quickly formulated a response. "I can't lie to you, either." He breathed in. Had their romantic encounter actually happened? Were they really having this conversation? Mitt made himself continue. 

"I'm glad you miss me, because I miss you too." His response was curt but confident, an attempt to stay away from the effusive and maintain his usually collected composure. 

Paul's face softened. His brow unfurrowed; his eyes widened, ever so subtly, but Mitt noticed. 

"Mitt, d'ya mean that?" His voice was quiet.  
"I do."

 

There was nothing more to say. In a split second they were in each other's arms, just holding each other with a tender strength. Mitt's eyes were open, but they didn't notice the rock face and the trees. He imagined seeing the scene from above, somewhat detached from the suddenness, but when he felt Paul's lips on his neck, he was brought back down. He, in turn, slowly kissed Paul's neck, his ear, his face, and, at last, his lips. There was nothing of lust in their kisses. Only love, a love suppressed for what felt to both like a lifetime, and that could not be suppressed any longer. They held each other with passionate tenderness. 

"Mitt, I think I love you."

For just a moment, Mitt paused and looked at Paul. Something in that glance, something in those words felled any reservations that existed before. 

Fingers combed hair.  
Hands caressed arms, back, face.  
Lips touched lips.  
Breaths were fast. 

They were empowered and, at the same time, belonged entirely to each other. 

A dog barked from a distance. It was out of sight, but its nearing presence reminded the men of the outside world. 

Paul's hand left Mitt's cheek. He could still feel it there, still feel the touch of his lips. Paul looked at Mitt with a fervent gaze. Mitt thought he must've looked quite the same. 

The dog and its master came into view around a patch of trees. As he approached, Mitt and Paul assumed pleasant, normal demeanors. The man recognized them. 

"Good morning," he said, politely.  
"Good morning," Mitt said. 

As the man went on his way down the trail, Mitt looked at Paul.  
"Boulder is liberal," Paul said.  
"Ah, yes."

Once the man was far enough down the trail, Paul chuckled.  
Mitt looked at him and smiled. "Can't get all the votes, can we?"  
"Nope."  
There was a silence between them. Paul straightened up.  
"We should be heading back to the car."  
Mitt nodded, and they started walking. 

As they neared the downtown Denver, Paul reached over and held Mitt's hand, caressing it with his thumb. The sun was higher now, and the mountains glowed.


End file.
